This week is filled with a lot of Rant and not nearly enough ‘Ritas.
Tasty Tidbit #1: Cut Off
All right bitches, I’ve just about had it. The last week, week and a half my life has been filled with people talking over, under, and through me. Figure that out if you can. I’ve had several conversations where people just plow in. I’ve had people hang up on me, not out of anger they just seem to forget that we’re talking and hang up. I’ve had people call me up to ask me a question and then talk right over me when I try to answer them. It’s a thoroughly frustrating situation.
I used to be one of those people and once in awhile I slip back into the habit of talking over people. Most of the time I’m just so excited and I want to share, but no matter how you justify it what you are saying is “what I have to say is more important, listen to me.” These instances of people talking over me remind me that I need to watch myself in case I’m slipping back into that old habit. As far as I can tell I have not, although I may get a barrage of Facebook comments to the contrary. So what’s with the conversation killers? I have no idea. The only other idea I came up with is maybe this is an opportunity for me to practice using my voice. Tell people to STFU, only I would probably say it nicer than that. The part that frustrates me the most about the situation are the people that ask questions and then talk over you. Why the hell did you call me then? If you’re going to ask me something I am happy to listen and answer you to the best of my ability, but it would help if you would shut up long enough for me to do so.
Tasty Tidbit #2: Nibbling
I like to ask questions. The only problem with questions is that sometimes you get an answer. You never know where the conversation is going to go with my friends, which are the best kind of conversations. It just so happens that on this night we were talking about sex. Something relating to chocolate stampedes (or was it panties?) and I brought up the subject of candy panties. Now, I personally have never purchased a pair. It seems like an odd concept to me. The thong, I’m assuming it’s a thong I don’t think they come in boy shorts, is made out of the same candy as those old candy necklaces. It didn’t make much sense to me that you would want to be wearing these and having someone munch on them because I would imagine the pieces might break off and they might be sharp, which sounds like the opposite of a good time. I was about to ask what my friends thought the string was made out of when one of them piped up that she had purchased a pair for her husband. That requires some clarification. It wasn’t for her husband to wear, are you getting it? At that point I had to stop and think, not easy when you’re on a roll, did I want to ask any further questions. Speculation is one thing, knowing the actually answer is quite another.
Questions were not needed. My friend proceeded to explain that they never used the panties, not in the traditional manner anyway. She said that one night they sat down to watch a movie and, broke out the candy panties and sat on the couch, nibbling on them. Fight Club and candy panties, it’s a party! (I don’t think they were actually watching Fight Club but for some reason that’s the movie that came to mind. Please don’t ask me why.)
By the way in case you wanted to know, according to my friend the string is made from licorice.
And now another episode of: Sara’s Just a Little Bit Nuts
Starring: Dr. Socks
in
Hey! I Can Reach My Calf From Here!
I have to say that as much as I mock this guy, I think he really is helping. Not in a direct way, it’s more that mind fucking way that shrinks do so well. Most of the time what he says pisses me off, which I guess is a good thing somehow. Not sure exactly how that works but I guess it does. This time after walking the labyrinth and making it to his little dungeon of an office, I choose to sit on the sofa. The orange chair experience was just too freaky to repeat. But I’m jumping ahead. To fully enjoy the flavor of this experience we need to begin at the beginning. In this case, the waiting room.
The thing I like about this waiting room, besides the gum machine, is that everyone here isn’t pretending to be normal. It’s a room full of nuts, acting like we’re nuts. There’s the young girl in the corner playing rap music on her cellphone, turned up full blast. The redneck couple fighting about who’s going to buy cigarettes when they leave, but my favorite this time was a little boy and his family. At first I thought that the young woman who sat on the sofa beside him was his sister. He was sitting on the couch kicking her in the back, yelling at her to move. The woman simply ignored him. She was adding minutes to her cellphone the whole time he’s kicking her. Another woman, probably about 45ish came and sat down opposite them. In a thoroughly exhausted voice she said, “Joey stop.” This was ignored and the older woman, let’s call her Martha, told the younger one, Suzy to move. At this point I realized that Suzy was the mother. The entire time we sat there, she never once batted an eye at this kid. She completely ignored him. She read out all the new games she had on her phone and how many minutes she had and that she had already received four text messages. Martha never really looked at the kid either, and every few minutes would sigh and half tell Joey to stop. Never mind that Joey was on the loose. He was running around, screaming, and jumping on furniture. Now, I understand that some kids have problems; this little boy probably did have a problem. I think his biggest problem was his lazy ass mother. I honestly thought, at first, that they were there for the mother. Turns out they had an appointment for the kid. The grandmother was saying something about upping his meds. Maybe he needed them upped or maybe he just needed some attention and discipline. I seriously wanted to punch both women in the face. No doctor, I don’t feel any violent tendencies.
That was how my experience started this time and I wasn’t pleased. To add to this Dr. Socks was late. Strike two. When we got into the office and I was seated on the couch, Dr. Socks took the orange chair of fetal position death that I had sat in last time. I immediately saw two things. One I saw what I must have looked like sitting in that chair last time, and it wasn’t pretty. Two, I had a very clear visual on his socks again. He leaned all the way back in the chair and put his left leg up with the ankle basically resting on his right knee. That left me staring at a solid four inches of sock.
We went through more questions and I found myself surprised that he actually remembered or had reviewed my file. At one point he asked me about school and what I wanted to do, blah, blah, and I said writer. Then he asked what I was doing to work towards that, did I have a blog? Well by golly gosh I sure do. I failed to mention that he’s currently the main character, but he didn’t ask either. About halfway through the session he must have had an itch because he started reaching for his ankle, either that or he was just trying to hang on, that damn chair needs a seatbelt. His hand would rest for a moment on his ankle and then it began to make its ascent. The guy hand his hand halfway up his pants gripping his calf. At least he was skilled enough in his calf grabbing that he wasn’t showing off any skin. Just yards and yards of sock.
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